


True Face

by WetSammyWinchester



Series: 2017 Kink Bingo Fills [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Amnesiac Dean Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Sexual Assault, Episode: s12e11 Regarding Dean, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s12e11 Regarding Dean, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 08:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12453585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: It’s like living in limbo after that witch's curse. Dean doesn't get worse and he doesn't get better, but Sam isn’t going to give up on getting his brother back.





	True Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nisaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/gifts).



> Written for spnkinkbingo square Wincest and immortalwriter's AU Challenge. My AU was amnesia, so I had to ask, what if Dean didn’t get better from the witch’s curse but he didn’t get worse? A lot of angst and a desperate little brother, that’s what. Written for nisaki who is always there with support when I need it, and to soy_em for her thoughts as I drowned in a giant pool of angst.

“Sweet ride.”

Sam glanced away from the road to look at Dean's fingers as they caressed the top of the Impala’s dash. “Yeah, it is.”

“ _She_ is,” Dean corrected him. “Cars like this have a soul.”

Sam's hand tightened on the steering wheel and he gave a small smile. “So I've been told.”

Looking back at the road, he waited.

“Can I drive her?” Dean asked, twisting the bracelet on his wrist. The shiny metal tag on the jewelry glinted in the late afternoon sun and Sam could see the lettering - _DEAN_.

“Sorry, Dean, not today.”

He popped in Dad’s old Led Zeppelin IV cassette tape and as the opening chords of Black Dog started, Dean nodded along, drumming his fingers on the black leather.

***

It took eight hours to get to Iowa City. Dean would have driven the full fifteen to Mackinaw Township in one shift, but Sam wasn’t his brother. Plus he had Dean in the passenger seat.

They had to take breaks for the bathroom, stop for strawberry waffles, and pull over in Smith Center because Dean saw some kids in front of the Dollar Store with a box of kittens for sale. While his brother sat on the broken concrete curb and stroked the kitten's grey and white fur with his calloused fingertips, Sam smiled.

Now, sitting on the edge of the motel mattress, Sam untied his shoes, stopping in the middle of it to listen to Dean singing Metallica in the shower next door. All the worry and doubt about their future, about the best way to protect his brother, crept back in, edging out the innocent happiness of the day. 

Sam hung his head, thinking about the guy they were meeting in Mackinaw. He didn’t want to get his hopes up too much or think about what price would need to be paid. Because there was always a price.

The bathroom door opened behind him and Sam realized that he was still holding one of his shoes.

“Hey, I didn't realize anyone was in this room.” Dean clenched at the towel wrapped around his waist, his damp skin glowing pink and his green eyes wide, looking around in surprise. “Am I in the wrong room?”

“Nope, we’re sharing, c’mon on in,” Sam said. Dean seemed willing to accept that and skirted around the edge of the room, his eyes jumping around from the half-eaten pizza on the table to the duffels on the floor to the two queen beds. The uncertainty in Dean’s eyes, that he looked ready to drop and run, hurt Sam worse than any fist fight they ever had, and exhaustion settled deep in Sam’s bones. 

Sam put his shoes under the bed and grabbed his pajama pants, careful not to look at Dean. Sam wanted to reach out and reassure him but experience said that Dean would get edgy, even try to leave the room if he did. Instead, Sam brushed his teeth and watched from the bathroom door as Dean crawled into the bed nearest the door. 

A few minutes later, Dean's breaths evened out into a steady rhythm and Sam jumped in the shower. Showers used to be a retreat for Sam. Ever since he was a kid, it was the one place he could decompress alone, to jerk off or think over the day. Now all he could think of was Dean slipping out and disappearing when he wasn't watching. 

Coming back in the room, he was relieved that Dean hadn't moved. He picked up his brother’s cell phone from the nightstand between them. When he turned it on, Sam’s face lit up from the glow of the screen and he glanced over at Dean, who hadn’t moved. Sam sat on the edge of the mattress once again before he flipped open the camera on the phone and pressed record.

“Dean, you won't understand this - hell you probably won’t find this,” he said and laughed. “I'm going to do whatever it takes to make things right for you. But just in case something happens tomorrow--” He sighed, looking over at the quiet lump under the covers in the other bed. “You need to know that, I'm your brother Sam and I love-- no, wait, that doesn’t matter.” He ran a hand through his hair and shook off the tears that threatened to spill. “If anything happens to me and you find yourself alone, call Jody Mills. Her number is on your phone. She's good people and will take care of you.”

The room went dark as he shut off the phone and put it back on the nightstand.

****

Moonlight was still shining through the slits in the motel blinds when Sam felt the mattress dip and Dean crawl into his bed. It was a familiar motion from when they were kids, huddled together in a new motel in a new town. Back in those days, Sam was the one seeking some kind of comfort and Dean was his protector against the unknown.

Dean paused and touched Sam’s shoulder. “Is this okay? I know we just met--”

“It's fine.” Sam lifted the covers and Dean shifted in closer, his breath hot and moist against Sam's chest. He held still as Dean settled in against his side.

“It feels like we know each other. Have we ever, you know--”

His heart raced every time Dean asked. Every night he waited, unable to be the first to push or seek comfort. Every night he had to be patient, balancing on a knife’s edge of want and responsibility. “Yes, we have.”

That was all Dean needed to hear, as he pushed his nose into Sam’s jawline, and the light scrape of his scruff made Sam shiver. He hooked his leg over Sam's and rolled them both over to put Sam on his back. Dean’s kisses were a soft trail up his jaw and across his lips, exploring the inside of Sam’s mouth with his tongue. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, grateful to feel his weight and warmth on top of him, smell the soap on his skin.

Dean stopped and stroked his thumb across Sam's cheek. “You're beautiful, you know that?”

Sam snorted. “You don't need to sweet talk me, Dean.” 

“You know what else is beautiful?” He reached between their bodies to take hold of Sam’s cock, giving it a tug. 

Sam opened his legs to let Dean settle in and could feel Dean’s erection rub against his balls, before Dean pulled it up and put their cocks side by side, wrapping his fingers around both shafts. He stroked the two of them a few times and then sat up on his heels, tugging Sam’s ass up on his thighs, to get a better angle. Sam grunted at the change in position and then sighed as Dean gripped them tight once more.

The room was filled with the noise of Sam’s panting and the skin-on-skin sound of Dean jerking them off. Dean licked his lips, staring at their cocks in deep concentration, needing to make this good, and Sam was hit hard with the memory of when they were teenagers trying to muffle the sounds of what they were doing and John was next door.

“Dean,” Sam whined, so close, digging his fingertips into the sheets. “Don't stop, just like that.”

Dean paused and leaned down to kiss Sam. “I won’t be mad, baby, but who's Dean?”

A pained noise bubbled up out of Sam’s throat and he grabbed Dean by the neck, pulling him back in, crushing their lips together to stop any more questions.

Dean’s hand began to work them again, and Sam’s balls tightened up, his orgasm building so quickly that he came all over the two of them without another word. Dean’s eyes went wild and dark before he spilled over Sam’s chest with a hoarse shout.

Dean kissed him once more. “Whoever this Dean is, he’s a lucky guy.”

****

The next morning his brother was gone.

Sam threw on his clothes in a panic and was grabbing the car keys off the table when his cell phone rang. “Hello, Dean?”

“Are you Sam?” a female voice asked.

“Is he with you?”

“Yeah, he’s here with me.”

Turns out that here was the diner across the motel parking lot. The waitress had been watching Dean when he came in and recognized the signs that something wasn’t right. She saw the bracelet that Dean was playing with and Sam’s name and number engraved on the back side.

Sam hated the bracelet. His brother - the man who fought and killed monsters - shouldn’t be tagged like a pet. Problem was Dean liked to wander and with no memories of their life and of Sam, it was the best case in a terrible situation.

“You have a matching one,” she said as Sam walked in. Her eyes were kind and full of first-hand recognition. He smiled and rubbed at the leather and metal bracelet on his own wrist before taking a seat next to Dean at the counter. 

“These waffles are to die for,” Dean said, holding up a fork with the perfect mix of crispy waffle and fluffy whipped cream. “Blueberries are my favorite.”

“Actually, strawberries are,” Sam replied, and Dean crinkled his eyebrows in confusion.

“I guess they are. My name’s Dean.” He held up the bracelet as if that explained it. “What’s your name?”

Sam held up his wrist to show the identical bracelet and pointed at the engraving there. 

Dean tilted his head and read the letters out loud. “SAM - nice to meet ya Sam.”

He set his elbows on the Formica counter and pinched between his eyes, taking three deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

“Can I get you some coffee?” the waitress said.

Sam looked up at her and she waggled the half-full pot of coffee while turning over his cup. He wanted to grab Dean and hit the road, find the witch in Mackinaw and end the nightmare that had gone on for the last three months.

“Sure, a cup of coffee would be great.”

****

A broken fan belt outside Gary, Indiana, meant they needed to wait six hours for a replacement part at America’s Best truck stop. The place had dirty floors and graffiti in the men’s room but there was free wifi, three restaurants, and enough video games to keep Dean entertained for most of that time. Sam sat in a corner researching memory spells on his laptop, finding nothing he hadn’t seen in the past three months. He looked up every few minutes to check on Dean or hand him another roll of quarters.

He found a new article about Romani curses. Most mentions of the Romani were crap, filled with romantic stereotypes, but this one had usable details about their beliefs and culture. Sam was so deeply involved that he didn’t notice the sun had set outside and the sound effects on the video games went silent.

“Dean?” Sam stood up and looked around. His brother wasn’t at the video games or any of the nearby tables. “Dean!”

He threw the laptop into his bag and ran up and down the aisles, pushing past red-eyed truckers, displays of Slim Jims, and endless shelves of car deodorizers. 

“Dean!” 

Pushing out the front door, he saw Dean walking between two big rigs parked in the lot, next to a meaty-looking truck driver kneading his shoulder. The guy was massive, standing six foot seven or more with a torso like a whiskey keg. The trucker glanced back over Dean’s shoulder, scanning the quiet truck lot and pulling his cap low.

“Dean!” Of course, his brother didn’t stop or turn around. As Sam ran closer, he could see the guileless smile Dean turned on this guy whose hand had dropped to Dean’s lower back. His stomach dropped as the trucker opened his passenger cab door and waved for Dean to get inside.

“Stop!” Sam skidded up to them in the gravel of the lot and grabbed Dean’s arm.

The trucker planted a hand the size of a basketball in the middle of Sam’s chest and shoved him hard to the ground. “Get your own, asshole.”

“Hey, I don’t think that’s necessary--” Before Dean could finish, the trucker grabbed his arm and tried to force him in the cab. Sam launched at the guy but his panic threw him off balance, and the guy decked him with one punch.

Pain exploded across Sam’s temple. He could feel the grit of the gravel against his palms but his vision had blacked out and he couldn’t figure which way was up. That’s when he heard Dean.

“Sam!” Fingers tried to pull Sam upright but he fell back on his knees, nauseous and shaking. He heard Dean throwing punches and tried to crawl over to help, but the fight seemed to be over as quickly as it started. A truck door slammed nearby and Dean knelt down next to Sam, grabbing his face between his palms. Two truckers came running up, out of breath.

“What the hell is going on?” one of the truckers asked.

“That asshole--” Dean said, pointing at the truck next to them, “he hurt my-- my Sam.”

The big rig started up and its hydraulic brakes squealed as it was thrown into gear and pulled away. The two other guys chased after it as Dean picked Sam up and helped him back into the truck stop.

****

Could have been worse, Sam thought. The blood vessels in his left eye had burst and a bruise covered the left side of his face with small scrapes from the gravel along his cheekbone. At least the headache from last night was gone.

He walked back out of the motel bathroom and Dean sat at the end of the queen-sized bed, twisting his bracelet. His brother’s mouth fell open and shut several times as his eyes traveled over Sam’s battered face but no words came out.

“You called me Sam last night.” His voice cracked at the end. He couldn’t afford hope and the pain it might bring. Not after three months of nothing. “How do you know my name?” 

“I--” Dean stood up and grabbed Sam’s wrist, pointing to the bracelet there. “You’re Sam.”

“Yeah, I am.” 

Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's neck and leaned down, resting their foreheads together. _Breathe in, breathe out. You can do this._ Dean started to pull back and Sam held him tight for a few seconds longer before they broke apart.

They gathered up their duffel bags and loaded up the Impala. Climbing in the driver’s door, Sam's heart was lighter despite the throbbing pain from the bruise across his cheek. He started up the car and looked over at Dean, who was running his fingers over the dashboard.

“Sweet ride.”

 _Breathe in, breathe out._ “Yeah, it is.”

****

Sam squinted out the windshield at the witch’s house. A green mid-century Craftsman with brown shutters and a river rock chimney. Normal, even charming. He shouldn't be surprised - it's not like the real witches put signs in their yards declaring their practice of the dark arts.

The contact came through a hunter Sam talked to last month. While they waited to see if Dean’s curse would wear off, he became a resource for other hunters -answering FBI inquiries, looking up lore, and directing hunters to cases. Dean would have joked about Sam becoming the new Bobby, if he had remembered who Bobby or Sam was.

It wasn’t a bad way to live. It was quiet with Dean watching tv or listening to music or puttering around the kitchen. All the times Dean had put his life on the line for others and now Sam could keep him safe, protected from the monsters they had hunted all their lives. It was perfect. 

Except for the part where Dean woke up every morning in his own bed, afraid and confused. 

When Sam wasn't answering calls, he was making them. His research on memory curses had turned up the same thing again and again - kill the witch, break the curse. That hadn't worked in Dean's case. When Rowena couldn't reverse the spell, she left quickly, not wanting to take the brunt of Sam's anger and disappointment. 

Day after day, Sam sat surrounded by the Black Grimoire and detailed lore books and online research, and still, nothing helped.

“Are we going inside?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed. “Yup, this is the place.”

“The place for what?” Dean looked back at the house for some kind of answer.

As they approached the house, the witch stepped out on the covered front porch. Sam wasn't sure what he was expecting from an expert in curses but it wasn't a guy that looked like a college professor in a fisherman's sweater with salt-and-pepper hair and beard. The witch pushed a pair of round tortoiseshell glasses up his nose with his finger and licked his lips. As the two of them walked up the porch steps, he stared at the black-and-blue bruise across Sam’s face.

“You Sam and Dean?” 

Sam nodded and they followed the guy inside. 

The house was cozy with a fire burning in the fireplace, pictures of a family on the mantel with books of English literature that lined the shelves. The man walked across the living room to a pair of sliding oak doors and pulled them open to reveal an office that rivaled Bobby’s for clutter. Leather bound spellbooks, parchment scrolls and what appeared to be an antique apothecary cabinet labeled with ingredients like artemisia, lotus leaf, and betel nut alongside yarrow and sage.

“Chinese herbs?” Sam asked, studying each one of the labels.

“I studied abroad. China has a long history of witchcraft and shamanism.” The man sat on the edge of his desk, his eyes searching Sam's face, lingering on the cuts and bruises there. “Max said you needed help with a memory curse?”

Sam looked over at Dean who was studying a framed print of the Devil's Trap from the Book of Solomon that hung on the wall. “Yeah, we need help. The witch is dead and my brother…”

The witch nodded at what Sam couldn’t say. “I might be able to help. Breaking curses is what I do.”

Dean turned away from the print to give Sam a smile, and Sam had to turn away. His look was grim as he considered the witch. “I'm willing to do whatever needs to be done - pay any price - just tell me what you need.”

The witch’s eyes crinkled up and he chuckled. “Well, let’s see what I can do first. Don’t think we’ll need any blood sacrifices just yet.”

****

Four hours later and nothing had worked. Dean remained just as blissful and ignorant, and Sam's frustration continued to build. They took a break and the witch made some tea and reheated a plate of leftover lasagne for Dean, while Sam refused to eat and paced the hardwood floor of the small kitchen.

“Some curses are unbreakable,” the witch said. “It doesn't happen often, but it does happen.”

Sam went numb at the words. He could believe that because there was always a way. That's what he and Dean said to each other when things got tough. _There was always a way._

“That’s not good enough,” he gritted out between his teeth. “As I said, I’m willing to do anything.”

The witch put his teacup on the counter and sighed. “You can offer me your blood or your soul or all the money in the world. It doesn’t matter - I don’t want it and it won’t help you with this.”

“Man, this is really good lasagne,” Dean said, a speck of tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth.

_An unbreakable curse._

“I can't--” Sam leaned back against the fridge, and the weight of the past three months dropped on his shoulders. His legs went out and he slipped down to the ground. “I can't do this anymore. I need my brother back.” 

The witch dropped down in front of Sam and set a hand on his shoulder. Through the blur of tears that threatened to fall, he could almost see John Winchester in front of him.

“Listen, son--”

Sam shoved the witch’s hand off his shoulder. “Don't call me that.” 

“Get away from him.” He could hear Dean push his chair away from the table while the witch raised his hands up to show no ill intent and backed away.

“Don't mean anything by it. I’ve been where you are now, Sam, so trust me. There is nothing worse than losing your family.” The witch started to leave the kitchen but then paused. “There are some other things I can do to help the two of you.”

Dean was now crouched by Sam’s side, drawn by his pain as unknowing as a moth to a flame, and Sam wiped his eyes and gave Dean what he thought was a reassuring smile.

“Like what? What could make this better?” he asked.

The witch chewed on his bottom lip before speaking. “A binding spell. It would keep your brother close at all times, give him the feeling that he belonged with you.”

Looking into Dean's eyes, Sam felt a rush of hope. A brother that would never leave him. One that would never wander off. One that Sam could always protect.

He shook his head. “I'm not taking away his freedom. He's lost so much already. I just want--” Sam patted Dean's face and got one of those smiles back that rivaled the morning sun cracking over the horizon. “I want him to be safe from all the people and things that could hurt him.”

The witch looked back and forth between the brothers. “I may have something else for you, but I need to check something. Can you give me a few hours?”

***

The sunshine was dappled through the yellow tree leaves above them. The park bench had a pretty view of Lake Michigan but all Sam could see was his brother and how the light played across his face. Dean turned to face the sun, and it showed the shadow of every eyelash, every freckle on his face, while the breeze of the lake ruffled his hair which had grown long in last few weeks.

“Know what I could go for right now?”

Sam turned and set his knee up on the bench next to Dean. “No, what?”

“Cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie.”

“What a surprise. Maybe later.”

_They could do this. No matter what happened. They would find a way to come through this together._

_****_

“The spell is called True Face.”

Sam sat down across the desk from the witch, indicating that Dean should sit too. His forehead crinkled in thought. “Never heard of it. It's a cure?”

“Not exactly. It’s a spell that allows a person to see what's in another person’s soul - love, anger, pain. Sort of like an aura.” The witch played with a corner of a scroll on the desktop. “He’ll see that you’re no threat, and he should be able to see other people for who they really are.”

“What about monsters and demons?”

“Theoretically, those too.”

Until the incident at the truck stop last night, Sam's deepest fear was that someone like Crowley or Lucifer would use Dean's condition against him. He never thought about people doing the same thing.

“Sounds useful for me, too.”

The witch twisted his lips in thought. “It works best when a person is perfectly open in their mind and soul, where there is no white noise to disrupt the connection. Your brother has no white noise. No offense, Sam, but you strike me as carrying a lot of baggage.”

Sam squirmed at the comment because this guy had no idea how much baggage.

The witch continued, “I don’t think there’s any downside to it. Then you and I can keep looking for a cure in the meantime.”

Dean tapped Sam’s arm. “Are we going to eat soon? I’m starving.”

Sam looked back at the witch. “Alright. Let’s give it a shot.”

****

Drinking a third cup of coffee was a mistake. Sam’s stomach was sour and his nerves were raw as he waited in the living room. He was trying to read a copy of Blake’s _A Variety of Religious Experiences_ that he pulled off the shelf, but couldn’t get past the first chapter before Dean walked down the stairs. 

His smile was different this time - shy and hopeful, maybe even a little stoned - and Sam held his breath as Dean reached out his hand to touch Sam’s cheek. “Wow. You’re beautiful.”

“Thanks, Dean.” He ducked his head and started to address the witch behind Dean when his brother grabbed his arm.

“No, really. I can see it - you glow. And we’re the same. Our souls look the same.”

The witch stepped into the room and threw himself into the desk chair. “Huh, well, that’s unexpected. Soulmates, huh?”

Sam hadn’t thought of shared heavens and Ash’s comment in years. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, good. I guess that’s the best possible outcome.” The witch scrubbed a hand down his tired face. “Listen, I need to get some rest and I’m sure the two of you do, too. Go back home to Kansas. We’ll talk in a few days.”

****

Dean waved his fork in front of Sam, the bite of apple pie hanging on the tines of the fork. “C’mon, it’s really good. Don’t you want a bite?”

Sam opened his mouth and Dean slid the pie in. It was good, lots of cinnamon and vanilla with a homemade crust. The waitress walked up as Dean was cutting off another piece.

“More coffee, hon?”

She poured and Dean leaned across the table to Sam. “She’s a nice lady. A good mom. I can see it. But she’s not as beautiful as you are.” He turned his attention back to the pie and Sam scratched at his cheek as the confused waitress stared before going back behind the counter.

“Dean, you gotta stop saying that in front of people.”

His brother ignored him to focus on his food and Sam checked his cell phone one more time before turning back to his burger. After five weeks of hanging out in the Bunker, they were back on the road to Mackinaw. 

Notification for a new text message beeped and Sam wiped off his hands and picked up the phone.

_Received the last ingredient this morning. When do you get to town?_

He had exchanged emails and ideas with the witch - David - and they shared their research. David had reached out to a friend of his who was traveling to some of the small villages in the Daba Mountains in Sichuan province and gathering folktales for his dissertation. Among these rural people, there was a rumor of a cleansing ritual and a remote spring and waterfall that could wash any curse away.

Sam grinned from ear to ear at the text and Dean looked up.

“You’re glowing again,” he said, waving his hand in front of Sam’s face.

“Oh, sorry.” He threw a few bills down on the table and stood up. “Just got some good news. We need to get on the road.” 

Dean looked down at the last few bites of pie on his plate. “Wait, can’t I finish this?”

“No, c’mon.” When the corners of Dean’s mouth turned down, Sam snatched his fork out of his hand and set it on the plate. “If this works, Dean, I will buy you all the pie you can eat.”

“Cherry this time?”

Sam’s smile was so big it threatened to crack his face in two. “Sure. Anything you want. Now let’s get out of here.”

****

The bathroom in the old Craftsman-style house was too small for three adult men. After some initial resistance and a whole lot of questions about why Dean was naked and the other two weren’t, Dean was kneeling in the white porcelain bathtub. Sam stood over him holding a bucket of the spring water high over his head. His arms were starting to tremble as David read the lengthy purification ritual and rubbed ashes across Dean’s forehead.

The witch looked up at Sam as he read the last line off the paper in his hand and nodded. 

Dean looked up as well and all the confusion and irritation on his face was wiped clean when he saw Sam’s face. That look of adoration made Sam hesitate. _How will you look at me when this is all done?_

The water sluiced out of the bucket and ran over Dean’s head and shoulders, splashing onto Sam’s jeans. In the harsh overhead light, Sam could see every freckle on his brother’s face and every drop of water that clung to Dean’s dark eyelashes. Sam didn’t notice that the water bucket was empty until David tapped him on the arm.

They waited, the only sound was the water running off Dean and circling down the drain. Finally, Dean swiped a hand over his face and opened his eyes.

Sam took a deep breath. “Well?”

“Well,” Dean said, “I’d like a towel and to get my clothes back.” He ran the hand through this hair, squeezing the water out. “And I think someone mentioned all the pie I can eat?”

Sam pulled Dean up and smothered him in a hug. “Anything you want.” 

Dean pushed back against Sam’s chest to look him in the eye. “Oh, and Sam, give me keys to the car. I’m driving home.”


End file.
